The Queen Gambit
by nectere13
Summary: Margaery Tyrell, unwilling to marry a man in love with her brother decides her own course of action, and find a king she could support. She plans ahead and takes a few thousand men, and more loyal to her with carts of the fruits of The Reach to support Robb Stark, even though she has to get through the Lannisters first.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first ASoIaAF fanfiction, so I'm a bit nervous, but I hope you like it! This chapter is slow, establishing Margaery's thoughts and reasoning, but I swear it will get more action packed soon!**

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><p>Everyone in her family treated Margaery Tyrell like a pawn in their machinations. Mace, her overly ambitious father was all about brute force. All he saw in his daughter was a pawn to marry off. He thought if he won Margaery a crown, she would have his best interests at heart, and tug her this way and that like a puppet.. She loved her father, but he was better suited to hunting and hawking than ruling, and she liked her heartstrings where they were.<p>

Loras loved her dearly and she loved him, they had always been the closest of the large family...but he was trying to convince her to marry Renly. She was tempted by the crown, she couldn't deny that, but she had her doubts. Renly was brave and handsome...and madly in love with her brother. Certainly, Renly would be kind and noble and array her in gold and silks and give her a crown, but she wanted to have everything, not _just_ a crown. Looking down the line, she saw five years ahead, with a cold bed and no family, or worse, an heir and despite his love, the resentment of her brother. Loras wanted Renly to have everything. He invested everything in Renly. He would see his beloved sister as giving Renly things he could not and start to hate her. Margaery's heart could not bear that. She would rather keep the love and goodwill of her brother over the Iron Throne any day of the week.

Grandmother Olenna who was the only one who imagined Margaery had even a whisper of the mind she did, but even Olenna underestimated her and tried to move her about like a piece on a board. Olenna saw her as her heir apparent, a bright rose in a field of deadheads. She never understood the Tyrell words the way Margaery did. She wanted power for Margaery, not a crown.

Margaery? She wanted it all. She wanted a husband who would be glad to fall into her bed. Children who she could grow and shape and see them flourish like her great golden roses. She wanted a crown, but more than that, she wanted to be _the_ queen. She wanted to be respected by her king, not be a trophy or a broodmare. She wanted to be allowed to be intelligent and move her own pawns, and with all of that, power. Power over her own life, as well as power to help the people she loved and all the small people. She wanted to grow and protect a kingdom, because so often, when people call her the Rose of the South, or the Rose of House Tyrell they forgot that roses have thorns and prick those that try and harm them. She wanted to be the queen _no one_ forgot.

War was moves and countermoves, and while Willas dedicated himself to books and strategy, Margaery had sat in the solar perfecting her embroidery and absorbing everything he learned. Now was her time to move, before someone tried to move her. Renly was out, a Tyrell had his heart and it wasn't her. Joffrey, well, he was either a pawn of his mother who had innocent bastards slain, or he was a monster himself. The rumors of incest didn't help, she wanted her children to be strong and, more importantly, sane. Incest had led to the fall of the Targaryens and was not something she wanted associated with her unless she had no other choice, especially not with how bloodthirsty Lannisters were. She would not be a reprise of Elia Martell.

That left one option. Loras would back Renly, and she...would place her bets on the Starks. Emotion was a great driving factor, and after the mockery Joffrey had made of Eddard Stark at the holy Sept of Balor; well, even she had an emotional reaction to that. That could inspire people to great heights to conquer even the Lannisters, who had been decimating the Riverlands. She knew the Starks were marching, they had to be, and so, she planned.

Quietly she gathered people around her: two handmaiden cousins, the apprentice smith, most of the stablehands, and an easy third of what her father had expected to take to King's Landing and what Loras had hoped to take to Renly. She then arranged for several wagons to be filled, which raised no eyebrows with her family, given her work keeping the borders of The Reach well-fed and the Tyrells well-liked. She split everything into easy groups which would raise no eyebrows, and headed towards the Roseroad as if on a trip of giving and charity, heading to where all her groups would meet. By the time anyone knew she had left for good, it was too late, and they had no idea where she was going.

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><p>The plan worked flawlessly, at first. Mace ruled with money and force, Olenna with fear and a sharp tongue, while Margaery wanted her people, every person sworn to her house, to love her, and care the way she cared for them. She had spent years soothing egos injured by Olenna, embroidering layettes for family and small people alike, and feeding them as much as she could. She had won her troops from her father not with golden hands or dragons, but because she cared and they cared back. She had people and she had a plan...but she was not prepared for the weather.<p>

As they moved towards the Riverlands, with an eye on the North, it got colder. Margaery hadn't any gowns fit for even the Crownlands, let alone all the cold coming from the rivers and blowing down. It was a weakness, and she knew it, but she refused to give in, even as she shivered in her seat. She would adapt, she was not hothouse flower to wilt easily. It would get colder, but she had no way to commission warmer clothes that would not hint of where she was headed.

Waving slightly, she stopped her people, and dismounted, drawing two scouts on either side of her. They were the youngest and the fastest. "Garick, Lynten, I want both of you to break off and run ahead. I will give one of you a letter, and he must give it to Tywin Lannister, wherever he is stationed. The other must find his way to the northern camp and give Lord Stark a message. Will you do this for me?"

"Of course, Lady Margaery!" Both boys chorused, puffing up slightly at being given important missions.

Margaery smiled and ruffled both boys' hair. She eyed them both, and due to Garick's heavy shoes, sent him to the northerners, giving Lynten the letter for Tywin. As the boys set off, the men started setting up camp, and Margaery said a silent prayer to the Mother for her scouts, and one to the Smith and the Crone for herself. She would need both strength and wisdom for this. Loras and Renly were likely on the move, but she had a few days on them, at least. If they even bothered to come towards the Riverlands, more likely they went to the Crownlands themselves.

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><p>When the camp was built, more ostentatious and obvious than it had been on their journey thus far, and she was embroidering as she schemed and ran through possibilities, there was a skirmish outside her tent and she walked out to find five men in Lannister red, swords drawn, surrounded by Tyrell men. She was unsurprised, they had been coming across Lannister men for awhile, but none had been so stupid as to confront them. She pasted on a smile. "Hello, good sirs." She greeted, surprising them with her presence. "Have my men startled you? I apologise." Sixteen and pretty, even if worn from days riding, she was not whom they expected to be commanding such a force. "I'm Margaery Tyrell, youngest child of Mace Tyrell and Alerie Hightower." She gestured to the wagons behind her. "I come bearing supplies and men for Lord Tywin."<p>

The men did not seem convinced, and the most senior grunted, actually grunted, at her. "The Tyrells have sworn support to Renly Baratheon."

Margaery smiled at him, all doe eyes. "I come on my own loyalties, not those of House Tyrell." So her father had supported Loras, in the end. Smart of him, he was more likely to move the Mander from it's course than Loras from Renly. "With people loyal to me."

The man looked unsure, but the troops before him were none he wanted to take on with only four brothers in arms. "We'll have to report this to Lord Tywin."

"Of course, I expect nothing less." She turned to one of her cousins. "Lynette, pack a hamper from the first cart for these good soldiers, and another to take to Lord Tywin, along with two small casks of wine." The men, long starving in the scorched Riverlands and tired of fish, were glad to see the bounty of The Reach being prepared for them, and Margaery handed the hampers over to two of the men. "Please, eat your fill from one, and bear the other to Lord Tywin with my regards."


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks to everyone who has viewed, favorited, followed and/or reviewed this story. I've been amazed at the response. I have played with the timeline a little - Eddard was already executed, and Robb has been declared King in the North, but they have not crossed the Trident. I hope everyone continues to enjoy this story._

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><p>Robb Stark, King in the North, was pondering the problems with how to cross the fords and free Riverrun, when Lord Karstark brought a young boy into the planning tent, holding him up by the neck of his fine green and gold shirt, off the ground. He blinked at the boy, who looked cross, like Rickon when something had not gone his way, but intimidated by all the large northern men. "Put me down!" the boy complained, thrashing. "I am here to deliver a message to Lord Stark!"<p>

Rickard Karstark shook the boy slightly. "Found this trying to sneak into the camp, Your Grace." Rickard said, with a toothy smile. "Says he has a message for you."

"I do!" The boy said petulantly.

"Oh, let the boy down, Rickard. He can't be much older than Bran." Catelyn Stark said, with a shake of her head.

Rickard looked to Robb, who nodded. Slowly he let the small boy down. "I hardly knew I was holding him, to be honest, he's so light!" He said, with a laugh.

Robb could hardly imagine the boy being much of a threat, but he put on his serious face anyway. He had just been crowned King in the North, and he had to represent his people. "You carry a message from the Lannisters?"

Garick Flowers had a moment of looking utterly offended, scrunching up his nose and shaking his head. "No, sir…"

"Your Grace, boy! You stand before the King in the North!" One of the men corrected.

"No, Your Grace." Garick corrected, attempting a bow, and half-succeeding. He pointed to the golden rose on his tunic. "I bring a message from Lady Margaery Tyrell."

Robb blinked twice. He knew the Tyrell name, they were one of the most powerful houses in Westeros, but they were as south as you could go, and he hadn't paid as much attention to them as he probably should have. He looked to his mother for guidance. "I thought Lady Tyrell's name was Alerie."

"It is." Catelyn said, also surprised, but more knowledgeable in the houses to the south. "Margaery is her daughter, Ser Loras's younger sister."

"What's some souther chit want with the King in the North?" Someone grumbled.

Garick flung around, looking for the voice, pride coming out as his chin wibbled. "Lady Margaery is not a _chit_!" He said, almost shouting, but not quite. "She's kind and smart and…"

Robb put a hand on the boy's shoulder, turning him back around as he would have one of his brother's if they were gearing up for a real fit of temper. "I'm sure she appreciates you defending her honor...what's your name?"

"Garick," the boy said, slightly calmer. "Garick Flowers." He blinked and bowed again. "Your Grace." He blushed slightly. "I apologize for the outburst."

Robb nodded, noting that the boy was a bastard - Flowers in the south was like Snow in the north. "What's your message, Garick?"

Garick pulled himself up to his full height and tried to look serious. "Lady Margaery Tyrell bid me to tell you that no matter the actions of House Tyrell, she supports you." He repeated slowly, afraid of missing anything. "She comes from the south with three thousand men to aid your cause, as well as what food and resources she could gather before we left The Reach."

Catelyn's eyebrows jumped up, surprised. "The Tyrells have declared for Renly Baratheon."

Garick nodded, chin jutting again. "House Tyrell has declared their support to Renly Baratheon, Lady Margaery is declaring her support for you, with what people are loyal to her over her House." Garick, who had been a kitchen boy in Highgarden saw their confusion and continued, trying to help. "She will clear the way of red and gold in three nights at the Ruby Ford in good faith, so you can march to aid Riverrun as the lions sleep."

"What can some Southron girl do to clear the way at the Ruby Ford?" Rickard said, in disbelief. "And why declare for us when her home is so far away?"

"Lady Margaery Tyrell is Olenna Redwyne's granddaughter. I suspect she has a plan, if she has an ounce of her grandmother's wits." Catelyn said, amused at him. "Though that doesn't answer why." She looked at the boy. "Do you know why, young man?"

Garick pulled on the edges of his tunic. "I'm not supposed to know." He said quietly.

"Go on, Garick." Robb said kindly. "I won't judge her harshly, no matter what you say." It wasn't exactly true, but three thousand men were three thousand men, and could help free the Riverlands and rid them of the Lannisters.

Garick started speaking quicker now that he was not trying to remember a message. "Lady Margaery always does what she thinks is right and wise. The Lannisters have done horrible things and they profaned the Sept, but she thinks Renly wrong...and...that the North deserves justice." He shrugged. "She wants to be here." His voice dropped. "And she didn't want to marry Renly, he loves another Tyrell, but Lord Mace..." He trailed off and shrugged.

Robb considered this. So much of his movements were all about his father first, and then his sisters, followed by his banners and the people of the North, that he had not thought beyond it. Unlike Renly and Stannis he had no interest in the Iron Throne. "You can thank your lady, Garick, and tell her we are grateful for the men and supplies, as well as any help she can give. We may welcome her, if she proves true at Ruby Ford." He paused as the boy nodded enthusiastically. "But please inform her that I have no interest in the Iron Throne, only to protect the North, get my sisters back, and establish Northern independence."

Garick nodded easily, but Maege Mormont had other thoughts. "Can we trust a girl Hightower bred? Lynesse Hightower was a spoilt brat who could not weather the North and brought nothing but ruin with her."

Robb shook his head, sliding more and more into a politician as time wore on. "If she gets us over the Ruby Ford, we can trust her, if she cannot weather the North, she is free to return South."

"If it works." Umber noted.

"If it works." Robb agreed. "If it works, we won't have to worry about the Freys. If it doesn't, we've lost nothing but a few days we were going to lose in planning and negotiation anyway."

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><p>Margaery was pleased when the Lannister men left, their arms full, and looking as though she was a miracle brought by the Seven. The pieces of a plan falling into place felt like nothing else. She moved through the encampment checking on everyone and keeping spirits high and happy. She just hoped that everything would continue as well as it had started.<p>

Tywin Lannister was looking over his maps with his generals, such as they were, when his strategizing was interrupted by a nervous Lannister guard. "My lord?" The young man said nervously. "There's a messenger for you."

"Well?" Tywin barked. "Send him in!" He turned back to his maps, only to hear his brother chuckle at his side. He looked over to see some young boy in Tyrell colors. He stopped and stood up straight, surprised. "You have a message for me, boy?"

Lynten nodded, and bowed deeply. "From Lady Margaery Tyrell, milord." He held out the envelope to the patriarch of the lions, and held his ground.

"Is that so?" Tywin said, taking the envelope and eying the green wax seal. He broke it with his dagger and pulled out the letter.

_My Lord Lannister,_

_I pray to the Warrior and the rest of the Seven that this message finds you in good health and good place. I am, at the moment, camped about a day's ride from your encampment with three wagons of supplies from the Reach and three thousand good, strong Southern men willing to take up arms. I fear my Lord Father and brother have let their ambition reign unchecked and have forgotten that House Tyrell have once and always remained good and faithful stewards to the crown. While what I can offer is paltry compared to the numbers of my House, I feel it is my duty to do what is right for the realm to truncate war and ruin and offer it up to end these conflicts. _

_Sincerely,_

_Lady Margaery Tyrell_

"Well," Tywin said, leaning back. "It seems as though what they say about Tyrell women being smarter than their men has just been proven true." He threw the letter on the table. "Mace's daughter has disavowed her father's idiocy and brought us three thousand men and wagons of supplies."

Kevan Lannister was startled. "She's only sixteen!"

"Who cares how old she is if she's brought us anything other than fish?" Daven argued. "All of us are sick to death of fish and hard, stale bread."

"We shall see." Tywin said. "She's a day's ride or so she claims, but who knows at what pace they travel." Tywin hated to see good minds wasted on women. If what she said was true, Margaery Tyrell had a better head for politics than most of the men at his table. It was no small feat for a girl of sixteen to steal three thousand men from their sworn house. "We shall see."

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><p>The day dawned bright, albeit chilly, and Margaery had her cousins prepare for the parts they were playing. All three of them dressed in their best riding clothes, like fine ladies out for a day's ride instead of the weary travelers they were. Everyone there wanted to present House Tyrell as the gleaming Rose of the South, bearing gifts and aid, from the squires polishing armor to the messenger boys and stable lads, all arrayed in fine tunics. "A rose is only as good as its' petals." Margaery told her younger cousin Nyssa, while the girls were taking turns doing their hair. "Without the petals, everyone can see the thorns."<p>

Today the group was as energized as they had been when they first left The Reach, and as Margaery rode in front, on her silver palfrey, her concern for her people wrapped up tight. No matter what, she would feel guilt for every man who died as a result of this move, but she could not show it, especially when so far nothing had happened. It did not do to dwell on doom where it had yet to occur. That was like inviting the Stranger to take a pick. The day was halfway through when she realized that despite the fact that she had worn a lighter dress, she had not shivered once, despite the way the wind blew at them. She pulled herself up straighter and smiled. Even the fact that she was adapting, that she was _growing stronger_ did not make it any easier to be bright and bubbly after a full day's ride when they finally reach the encampment. Still, Margaery does as she has always done, and pulls herself up as properly as she can as the red and gold banners come into sight.

Her earlier gifts had worked their magic, and even as she rode up, she could see grateful eyes. It made her almost feel bad for the deception, almost. The guards, weary of a long day and war that they did not particularly want, escort Margaery to Lord Tywin, who stands as she enters his tent.

"Lady Margaery," Tywin said, with something not quite a bow and not quite a nod. "I was quite surprised by your letter."

Margaery dropped into a deep curtsy, but averted her eyes for only a moment. This was a game with a delicate balance, Tywin would not believe a simpering sycophant or trust someone too shrewd or too foolish. "Lord Tywin, it is an honor sir."

"My men say you have not lied about your numbers. How did a girl of six and ten manage to convince three thousand troops to follow her?" Tywin asked, studying the doe-eyed girl, dressed so impractically for war or even for wandering.

Margaery smiled at that. "My lord-father forgets that the Tyrells are stewards in his ambition, my lord. He forgets how House Gardener was destroyed by placing themselves in a battle they could not win. I have no desire to be destroyed in going against the rightful king, and neither did the men. The will to preserve the self, when cloaked in obedience to a member of the house can ease a man's conscience."

Tywin studied her shrewdly, looking for flaws in her words. He noticed how in the long silence and under his eyes, she did not shrink away or quail, and instead, stood confidently before him in a way most of his men did not. "Well, we thank you, Lady Tyrell. We are in your your debt."

Margaery nodded and curtsied again. "Thank you, Lord Tywin." She said easily. "Might I go assist my cousins with tending the supplies we've brought?"

"Of course." Lord Tywin replied, with a slightly deeper bow. "And you must sup with my generals and I for the duration of your stay." He wanted to get to know her better, a Lannister never forgets his debts, after all. Besides, with a head like that one, she might be able to turn his grandson into a proper king.

Margaery smiled prettily at him. "It would be an honor, milord." She curtsied again, and took her leave.

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><p>Garick found them at the camp, and Ser Garth Fossaway was the one to bring him before Margaery. She thanked her cousin, and then settled Garick at the table in her tent, handing him peaches and cheese from her chest. "Here, Garick, sit and eat." She encourages, pouring him a cup of water. "How was your journey? You were not harmed?"<p>

"Nah," Garick said, with a mouthful of peach and boyish bravado. "Some big oaf tried to catch me, but I made him take me to King Robb."

Despite all of her siblings being older Margaery had spent enough time with children, noble and smallfolk, and rewrote his words in her mind without bursting the bubble of his brave tale. She picks up her embroidery, and sits across from him as if he wasn't an orphan she had brought to the Highgarden kitchens because she found him endearing. "And what did King Robb have to say? Was he cross with you?"

"Only a bit when I challenged one of his men, because they called you names." Garick said, puffing up slightly. "But not really."

Margaery offered him a smile, pleased with that answer. "I knew I could count on you to defend me." She said easily, watching as her messenger flushed with pride. "And do you bring a message back?"

Garick nodded, mouth full of peach like a squirrel. It took him a few minutes to swallow, even with taking a deep drink of water, but he knew Margaery would scold him for talking with his mouth full. "He's grateful for the men and supplies, and will gladly welcome you after you prove true at Ruby Ford, but he wants you to know he has no interest in the Iron Throne, only freeing his sisters and Northern independence."

"And the others? What did his men think of my message?" Margaery asked, nodding at this. She had known that he did not want the Iron Throne.

Garick made a face. "They are unsure." He admitted. "They aren't sure what to think."

Margaery nodded, she had expected as much. "What did you think of King Robb, Garick?"

Garick considered the question, pleased that Lady Margaery valued his opinion so much. "He didn't treat me like a child." Garick recounted. "Or say anything about being a Flowers." Garick was sensitive about his last name, because he had been found in a burned out house by the corpses of his parents, but without a name to put to them, all he could be called was Flowers. "He listens to his men...and there was a few ladies there too...but he made the decision himself." He considered all of this. "I think he's a good person."

Margaery listened attentively, interested in Garick's opinion. Every piece of information she could get was helpful, and if his people could respect Robb Stark everything would be easier. "Good. You've done well, Garick." She handed him a piece of candy. "Finish your cheese and off to your tent with you." She patted him on the head. "Tomorrow is a busy day."


	3. Chapter 3

Alerie Hightower had not been a particularly useful or loving mother, pushing her children on wet-nurses and septas as soon as she could, but she made sure that her daughter had all the arts necessary for Margaery to be a good gentle-wife. Margaery found what little instruction her mother gave her quite useful in camp. Apparently running a military encampment was not at all unlike running a noble household, at least not the way Margaery would do it. The Tyrells had ousted the half-starved scullions and military cooks and set them only to fetch and carry as the less weary, less battle-scarred Tyrell host took over.

Margaery was nothing if not a quick learner, from mother, septa, Maester, brothers and all others. One needed to be quick and shrewd or a complete puppet to survive in the noble houses of the south, and Grandmother Olenna had ensured Margaery was well-prepared for today, though perhaps not in the way that the Queen of Thorns would have preferred. Olenna would have never made such a bold gambit. She would have found a way to force her father to marry her off to someone else, like she had done when her father wanted to wed her to a Targaryen. She saw only danger in kings and crowns, and Olenna was first and foremost for self-preservation. Then again, Margaery had forfeited the crown of Renly's queen for the preservation of her own sanity, so perhaps Olenna wouldn't have been so displeased after all.

"Chop, not crush, Desmera." Margaery corrected her cousin with a shake of her head, wondering if House Redwyne was in the wine business solely because of an inability to avoid crushing things. She showed her cousin the better use of the knife blade, and shifted back over to her own work, where she was carefully preparing herbs.

She pondered her decision as she mixed and stewed, humming old Highgarden songs to herself. Many people would have suggested she poison the Lannister host, but it was a foolish idea. Poisons were delicate things, and dosages were important. Poisoning food was utterly impractical, because there was no way to ensure the people would eat enough, or even how long it might take for a poison to take effect. One certainly couldn't use a fast-acting poison, because feeding an entire military encampment at once was nigh on impossible, there were too many who had different shifts. If everyone ate at once any enemy would only have to waltz in at dinner to take the camp by surprise, and the moment people started keeling over, well, no one would take another bite. Slower poisons had time to be counter-acted, and it would be easy to prove what she had done by symptoms alone.

No, she would put the lions to sleep, as Maester Lorne and Great-Uncle Maester Gorman had done to her as a child, with Mother's Sleep, when her mind would not silence itself long enough to allow her to rest. It did not cloud the mind like the Vinsonge, or cause one to fall unconscious immediately in webs of dreams from which it was hard to dig one's self out like milk of the poppy. It only allowed for deep sleep once one relaxed and lengthened it by making one unable to wake until you had a full night's rest and woke refreshed, allowing exhausted mothers to sleep through even their infant's cries. This way, the Northern army could cross the ford and make their way into the Riverlands in cover of night while the Lannisters slept, without losing a single man, while in the morning the Lannisters would have no idea what had happened, and perhaps even be clueless that Robb Stark had crossed the Trident, though she doubted it would take Tywin long to figure it out.

Putting aside her herbs, she picked up the work of roasting and baking, thinking things through once again. This would be the point of no return. Right now she could still go out and side with the Lannisters, broker a match with one lord or another, perhaps even the very young Prince Tommen. All she would have to do would be to hand Tywin the Stark army on a silver platter, and her future would be assured as a very rich woman.

It made her think of her Aunt Lynesse, who had married into the North. Her mother had used it as a cautionary tale to prevent any of her daughters from seeking matches north of The Neck. According to Alerie, beautiful, pretty Lynesse had given up the chance to marry a rich Dornish lord or a powerful Lannister to marry a poor Northern lord for love. The tale did not end well, the North had frozen pretty Lynesse to the bone, and she cried for the warmth of The Reach and the opulence of Oldtown instead of the ice and cold with Northerners who cared not a whit for pleasure cruises or the high harp. It gave her a moment of doubt, as she had never been north of The Neck, indeed, she had never been this far north before at all. Then again, she was not going north to marry, lulled into the idea of some whirlwind romance. She was going North to escape from under her father's thumb and to protect herself and her brother from broken hearts. Loras, her beloved brother, had always tried to be the perfect knight, charming all, he was the one with his heart on the line, with a great romance, almost as doomed as Aunt Lynesse. He could never be with Renly the way he would hope to be. She had always be counseled away from love and romance, Grandmother had seen to that. Olenna had always warned her that her large heart would be her weakness, and she must be careful to think with her brain and not her heart, as was the folly of many maids, just as knights and handsome youths thought with their lusts and not their brains. She was more practical. She had to be, or she would be leading her people to nothing but death. Besides, Lynesse had been a Hightower, and they were as rigid as their home and namesake, Grandfather Leyton hadn't even come down from the great lighthouse for the birth of she or her siblings, or even Garlan's marriage. She on the other hand was a Tyrell, and roses wound where they would without concern, molding themselves to gardens, pots, greenhouses, trellises, and ruins alike.

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><p>Lynesse Hightower was not just on Margaery's mind. Dacey Mormont, as part of Robb's personal guard, had grown up with a completely different side of the story than Alerie Tyrell. It made her mistrustful of southron people in general and Hightowers in particular. Maege had asked her to keep a weather eye on the Tyrell girl, being Lynesse's niece. "I don't see why we're trusting her." Dacey muttered to Greatjon, perturbed. "She's grown up closer to the Lannisters than the Starks. Do we really want Southrons in our camp?"<p>

Greatjon was no great lover of the peoples to the south himself, and he understood her concerns, and if he was fair, shared many of them. Robb had proven himself to the strong man, however, and his fingers that were no longer there tingled at the mere idea of doubting one of the King in the North's decisions. "I'm not overly fond of the idea." he said slowly. 'But I trust His Grace's decisions...and I'd be careful being too loud on Southrons, Dacey." He gestured up ahead where Catelyn Stark rode beside her son. "Our King's mother is a Southron woman as much as Lady Tyrell, even if not as far South."

Dacey considered that. "Lady Catelyn raised fine Northern children with Lord Stark." She ruminated on this for a few moments. "I suppose not all Southers are unable to bear the winter."

"Aye," Greatjon replied with a nod. "And as our King is fond of saying...winter is coming." He slapped a broad hand on Dacey's back. "And we can use all the men and supplies we can get...unless you're hoping the Young Wolf will court a She-Bear, and afraid some delicate southron flower will show you up?"

Dacey snorted at Lord Umber, purely at how ridiculous that was. "I won't marry any man who would take me for his own House. I was born a Mormont woman and I will die a Mormont woman."

"Gods help the man who marries a she-bear." Greatjon rumbled with one of his great, deep, belly laughs.

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><p>"You know what you must do?" Margaery asked, looking between Lynette Fossoway, Nyssa Tyrell, and Desmera Redwyne. Her dear cousins who had come with her this far, leaving behind Highgarden and servants of their own for uncertainty to act as her handmaidens. The three nodded as one and she felt a surge of gratitude that almost stilled her breath. She embraced the three of them, while she tried to gather her wits around her. She would need all of them tonight, wits and cousins alike. She was in her finest dress of Myrish lace and satin in blue-green and gold, while Nyssa had arranged her hair with golden rose combs in a cascade of curls falling down across the keyhole back of the gown. Margaery had even gone so far as to put rose oil on her wrists and behind her ears as she used to do at Highgarden on namedays and great feasts. It was extravagant, but it was the easiest way she could think of to show Tywin Lannister that she respected his House and titles.<p>

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><p>When it came time to dine, a golden haired Lannister came to her tent, asking her to sup with Lord Tywin and his generals, and she followed easily, with Lynette's brother Ser Garth at her back, which perplexed the messenger. Once she was in the war tent, that had been arranged for meals of the generals, she curtsied deeply, "Lord Tywin, thank you again for your gracious offer of dining with you."<p>

"You're honored and yet you bring your own knight?" Kevan asked, curiously, from behind his brother, before Tywin could even respond.

"Oh!" Margaery said, as if startled. "Please, take no note of Ser Garth, he is a dear cousin, only accompanying me as a chaperone." She said easily. "He acts only as a safeguard for my reputation, milords, being female and unmarried as I am, he has been my shadow on this journey."

"A wise precaution for a lady of your standing." Tywin replied, before Kevan could respond. "Please, come sit and eat. I've heard you yourself spent the day cooking with your ladies for our enjoyment."

Margaery had the good grace to blush as she took a proffered seat. "It is hardly a Highgarden feast, milord, and I managed the kitchen more than cooked myself, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless."

Tywin watched her as his trusted page poured wine. "You are a very interesting young girl, Lady Tyrell."

Margaery tilted her head and drank a bit of her wine. "I shall take that as a compliment, milord."

"What will your father think of your rebellion?" Tywin asked, as the plates of hart, vegetables and other savories went around the table.

Margaery pursed her lips. "I believe he will be both angry and pleased, because he will hope that when this war goes to King Joffrey, he can hope that I will be soft-hearted and that he will not lose favor."

Tywin chuckled. "You don't think he will be angry enough to break whatever contracts he brokered for you, or dismiss your inheritance?"

"I am not yet betrothed, milord." Margaery admitted. "And it may well work against me, a future husband could pressure him not to dismiss me, but it was a possibility I knew before I made my decision and I will not waver."

"Just as well." Tywin replied, mind working quietly as conversation shifted.

* * *

><p>At the end of the dinner, Margaery found her way out of the tent, and back to her own. She was running on adrenaline, which was keeping the Mother's Sleep at bay. As long as she did not relax, she could hold out for a few more hours. She needed to make sure everything was in place. She moved through her camp, making sure everyone was ready to go at a moment's notice, and ensuring all of the Lannisters had eaten their fill. When she was certain, she went back to her tent, and allowed herself to fall into oblivion.<p>

* * *

><p>The Northern army approached the ford several hours after nightfall, with a bright moon reflecting off the water, and were relieved to note that there were no soldiers waiting for them. They headed towards Riverrun, coming across a silent Lannister encampment, where even fires had guttered to a stop. The only people moving were dressed in green and gold, like the messenger boy.<p>

The messenger boy who quickly scurried up to them, looking proud as a squire on his first time at tourney. "Your Grace, milords." he said, with a much better bow. "Lady Margaery and the Mother have lulled them to sleep. The sooner we move, the harder we will be to catch." He blinked, and added. "Lady Margaery says."

"Hello Garick." Robb said, in his best big brother voice. "Where is the mysterious Lady Margaery?"

Garick frowned sadly and pointed to the wagon. "In the wagon. She had to put herself to sleep, Lord Tywin invited her to eat with them, and she couldn't say no without making them suspicious."

Curious, Robb rode up to the first wagon of the three. In the second two he could see wheat and fruits and all sorts of vegetables, but the first one appeared empty. As he and his host got closer, the three maidens tending the wagon moved off, and they could see a brown-haired maiden, eyes closed in sleep, resting on the meadowgrass that filled the bottom of the wagon. Her handmaidens had covered her with a blanket baring the Tyrell sigil, and tucked a pillow under her head.

Robb could hardly believe that this Southern girl who looked as delicate and fragile as a pane of glass could have done all this, and just to escape her father and a loveless marriage. It impressed him and reminded him of Arya, with all of her rebellious independence at the same time. "Perhaps before she wakes we can reach Riverrun." He said, both to Garick and his men. "Let's not squander this opportunity."


	4. Chapter 4: The Silence of Waiting

**I am so sorry to all my readers that this took so long. i don't really know why, I just could not seem to get it written quite the way I wanted to. Hopefully this chapter has been worth the wait.**

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><p>Robb knew that not everyone agreed with his decision to let the Lannisters where they lay. He didn't have to be a genius to know that his men were muttering. He had ears, and moreso than that, he had considered slaughtering them all in their sleep for a brief moment before he reminded himself of the kind of king he wanted to be, the kind of man he wanted to be. He wanted to be like his father. Unfortunately, his place meant he had to make his people follow.<p>

"We could end this here, Your Grace!" Roose Bolton hissed to the king, as they rode through the camp. "We could give the incest king his own Rains of Castamere."

Robb pulled his horse to a halt, and looked at Lord Bolton. "And what do you think Jaime Lannister and the rest of his bannerman will do when they hear it? What do you think that incest king will do to my sisters, Bolton?"

"We could at least kill Tywin. Without the old lion, they'll have to regroup." He argued.

The conversation was interrupted at the other side, by one of the Tyrell handmaidens, all three of which were marching near the front, between Robb and Dacey, to ensure nothing untoward occurred between the Southron maidens and his men. "I asked Margaery the same thing." Nyssa said lightly. "I wanted to know why we couldn't just kill them all once they were asleep. She told me that war is waged in the hearts of the people as well as on the fields. No one ever forgot Elia Martell, and no one will forget the slaughter of the bastards, slaughtering soldiers while they're asleep would reek of cowardice and poison the people against us." She pouted prettily. "I asked her about killing Tywin, and she laughed at me. With Tywin dead, control of the Lannister finances goes to the Kingslayer or the Imp." Nyssa clucked to her white mare, patting the horse's neck. "That's why she ordered us to capture him instead. Keep him alive and you cut off the supply of gold to the Lannister soldiers, to the throne, to any he may have bribed or bought. Lannisters buy their men, they won't stay faithful when the gold of Casterly Rock is cut off."

"Do Southron girls tell you how to rule now, Your Grace?" Roose asked, glaring at the maiden.

"No, Lord Bolton." Rob said in turn, voice harsh. "But neither do you."

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><p>Margaery woke to the sun on her face and a furry pressure on her chest. She blinked several times, shifting slightly and looking up at the blue sky. She took a few moments to take inventory of where she was, and moved to sit up, only to startle the direwolf who had apparently been sleeping with his head on her chest.<p>

A small spike of fear went through Margaery almost instinctually, before she relaxed. Even if it was a direwolf, it had apparently taken shelter in her wagon and never so much as bit her. "Hello," She said in a soft voice, one she reserved for Willas's hounds. She offered the wolf her hand to sniff, hoping to keep the wolf on her side if she attempted to move. It would be quite annoying if she were to go through all of this just to have her throat ripped out by a direwolf.

The wolf looked at her with large yellow eyes and sniffed her proffered hand, taking a step closer.

"My name is Margaery." Margaery offered, slowly moving her hand to pet the wolf, keeping her voice soft and even. She cautiously scratched between the wolf's ears She felt a little foolish for introducing herself to a direwolf, but really what else could she do?

* * *

><p>Robb heard a bark from Grey Wind, and wheeled around on instinct. He had learned to trust his direwolf and to be alert for warnings from him. He gestured for Greatjon to keep the lead and went to investigate. He rode through the ranks toward where the bark had come from, only to find the last sight he would have expected.<p>

Grey Wind, his ferocious direwolf who had torn off Greatjon's fingers before anyyone could react, was currently licking the face of the now awake Margaery Tyrell, who, despite the size of the beast, was giggling and had her arms around his neck as if he was an over-affectionate puppy. Robb couldn't help but stare for a moment, before clearing his throat. "Are you well, my lady?"

Margaery started, her already pink cheeks flushing further in embarrassment. She lowered her arms from the wolf, and cleared her throat. "I am well, if all has gone to plan." She looked away nervously. "Where are we now?"

Robb could not help but compare how the Lady Margaery looked now, with meadowgrass in her hair, face smudged, and blushing as opposed to the still, put-together prettiness of when he had first seen her. "Approaching Riverrun, though we have slowed to allow forces from House Mallister to join our group." He looked to Grey Wind, who was nudging impatiently at Margaery's hand, as if annoyed he was no longer getting attention. "Is he bothering you, milady?"

Margaery noted this with a precise nod, and shifted somewhat. "Not really, though I would like to leave the wagon." She admitted, patting the direwolf on the head.

"Grey Wind, to me." Robb said, pointing to his side. Obediently, the direwolf jumped out of the wagon and to his master's side, with a little gruff noise.

Margaery blamed the Mother's Sleep and the fact that she had expected someone who looked more like Eddard Stark that it took until he called the great direwolf for her to realise that she was speaking to the King of the North. "Your Grace," she said, flushing again and lowering her eyes and head slightly. "It is an honour to meet you."

"The honour is mine." Robb replied, ignoring the courtly games. "Your men speak very highly of you, and your handmaidens as well." He gave a little bow and offered her his hand. "May I assist you from your wagon?"

Margaery was startled from the offer, as one did not usually expect kings, especially kings who were trying to win thrones and keep them, to be so humble as to offer help for such things. Bemused, she took the proffered hand and allowed him to help her down, which wobbly-kneed from Mother's sleep, was very helpful.

* * *

><p>Margaery had to admire the martial cunning of the young king, when the plan for the battle was laid out, helped in no small part by Jamie Lannister's overconfidence. Now, however, she was left to wait. The idea hadn't bothered her at first, until the quiet of the camp had invaded her ears and she thought back to all the things she had learned about soldiers, war and command over the years.<p>

Grandmother Olenna, mocking her father's claims of battle-glory..._All that fat son of mine ever sieged was his table in his tent...he starved Storm's End and doubled in girth...some warrior._

The whispers in the barracks..._Lord Mace pushed Willas into tourneys so he could save his gold in case it came to war again. That didn't end well for his heir. He can't buy the lists!_

Loras, visiting home after squiring for Renly, annoyed and heartsick..._They're never going to respect me! Someone said I was more useless than father! Don't they know he's their liege lord?_

Her father never earned his men's respect, they stayed out of duty and for gold. She had no gold to offer, no promises of advancement, and who knew how they might feel after meeting the Lannister forces in battle. She had only their love, but love could sour from pain. She had no idea how to fight a battle, not truly. She knew strategy, gleaned from Garlan and Willas and even from her father, but not how to wage war. Garlan had made sure to teach her how to defend herself should she ever be come upon by bandits while taking care of the smallfolk of The Reach, but that had meant to be used against small groups, and, if it came to it, against herself. He made sure she knew how to slit her own throat, just in case.

Her hands stilled over her box of herbs and salves, which she had been worriedly arranging and rearranging. She could see to the injured, with the best of her ability, the ability that made Great-Uncle Gormon bemoan her gender and pretty cousins claim Alerie would send her to be made a Septa. She could heal them, yes, maybe, she could stitch them up with fine stitches as if they were samplers, but even that was too after the fact.

She tried to rationalize, she is, after all a woman. Lady Catelyn stayed behind, and Margaery realized with a start that she had still not met the king's mother, too busy making sure her men were ready for battle, that she took time to encourage each one of them, in a litany of house mottoes and platitudes, telling them how much she valued them. In the North, though, gender seemed to matter little. She had watched the king ride off with multiple women in his wake, and if they could do it, so could she. She must, for her men, for herself and for the war she had chosen. This war would be the making or ending of her, and she could not just sit and let it pass her by. She must, in a new way, grow strong.


End file.
